Mommy and Daddy come home to another 50's fairy tale,
to a war and a bruise and another hidden message
in the walls of miscommunication,
on the side of a heart full of ammunition,
we wait in the barrels of the guns to our heads
and pull the trigger, pull the trigger.
In a question to every cut,
every wound, every scar,
tell me the story of your life;
tell me the story of your dress
polished in the black and blue and silver
of a car crash gone awry.
We were supposed to disconnect from the scene
before we cut the cords and now
we're only victims of our simple, painless crimes.
But every nightmare we ever had
were the answers to our prayers,
were the visions of a future that we cannot yet erase.
And we can end this world as soon as we save it,
turn the earth on a new route and freeze inside our beating hearts;
watch the glaciers in our eyes give way
and crash down on our cities;
watch the world turn to a legend
of life and death and white and best chances saved for last.
And when we wash our hands, rinse the suds of basic intuition,
we will never be clean again,
we will never be free from these sins.
Yet every rose we torch leaves a seed behind
in an effort to pull out the thorn in our sides.
This is our death and we have made it our own.
We could have taken the world with us but chose to die alone,
In this bed with a crimson trail of frustration leading to where we lay.
We're all the same, I warned you, I'm afraid...
I'm afraid we're all the same.